


The Blue-Eyed Boys of Brooklyn

by die_traumerei



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Handwavey Science is a Thing, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Temporal Headaches May Ensue, Thor Is a Good Bro, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Is a Good Bro, post-winter soldier bucky, pre-Winter Soldier Bucky, semi-explicit sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if your best friend in the whole world was taken away from you?  What if he was tortured, unmade, turned into a weapon, over and over again?</p><p>And what if you could warn yourself, prepare yourself, make it so that none of this would ever happen to your best friend?  Changing the timeline is dangerous; the paradox could end all that you know.  You don't know the ripple effects, but it's a chance – you could save your friend.  Would you?</p><p>If you're Steven Grant Rogers, of course you fucking well do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Later, they could never quite agree on whose fault it was. Tony would never drop his argument that it was _clearly_ one of Thor's lot – who else could control time to such an extent? Thor, in return, argued that the Asgardians knew better than to open up the most obvious paradoxes, and also they didn't care enough. Clearly it was some Midgardian experimentation carried out without proper understanding, which had gone a little haywire. Tony had proved that it was reproducible by humans by the end, anyway – so what better proof did he need?

The rest of the team split pretty cleanly down the middle of the two camps, with the exception of Captain America and Bucky Barnes. Steve declared that he wasn't interested in the argument, and looked noble and leader-like. Bucky changed sides based on who was offering the best bribes, and to keep things generally interesting. It _would_ go down as one of the great team-wide debates, only surpassed by the argument over Jon Snow's true parentage. (Which Steve had strong, well-researched opinions on, possibly to make up for his abstention from the Team Asgard vs Team Midgard argument.)

However it happened, whoever's fault it was, it didn't change the fact that on one dark and stormy night, as the wind whistled loud around Avengers Tower and everyone but Thor instinctively looked for the nearest blanket to hide under – something Happened.

It wasn't quite a flash of light, nor time freezing; there was no appearance of a star disguised as a tramp, nor did a portal open. Yet it was somehow all of these (possibly with the exception of the star), and when everyone's eyes had cleared, Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes sat in the middle of the room.

Which was a nice trick, as they were already sitting together on the sofa, sharing a blanket.

“What,” said Bucky (the one on the sofa). “The fuck?”

Whatever he had expected from this brave new world, it was not to see himself (aged about 20, he'd guess, that was the year he'd discovered Brylcreem and God help them all) and a tiny, skinny Steve Rogers appear in his living room. Tony's living room. Whatever.

The younger Bucky moved quickly, getting himself between Steve and his older self, and the motion looked so natural, felt so right that it made Bucky's heart hurt.

“What the hell just happened?” snapped the tiny Steve, pushing Bucky aside, another achingly familiar moment. “Who are you? What did you do to us? You won't get away with it.” He pushed himself up, glaring at the circle of still-blinking Avengers, circling around, clearly ready to fight.

“Oh. My. God.” Clint spoke first. “Jesus Christ, Steve, the before pictures did not do you justice. I've seen kittens with more meat on their bones.”

“Hey, watch your mouth!”

Both Buckys had stood, both had growled the words in the same tone, simultaneously. They stopped and stared at one another, and Steve (the big one) sighed.

“Bucky, sit down. Both of you. Clint, shut up. _Everyone_ shut up.” He turned and looked at his younger self, met the eyes of the angriest boy in the world, and willed him to listen for once in his goddam tiny punk life. “Steve, no one meant to do anything to you. I promise. You and Bucky are...are the safest you've ever been in your lives. Trust me. On Mam's Holy Bible, the one with the twenty-third psalm printed wrong so she taught it to you by memory. Trust me.”

The effect was instantaneous. Steve relaxed – not entirely, but enough – and put his hand on Bucky's arm. He looked around, and met the older Steve's eyes again. “No one else knows that. No one in the world.”

Steve smiled wryly. “Well, until now.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I'm you. I think. I'm pretty sure. Test me on something.”

“When you're stuck on what you want to draw, what do you do?”

Steve had the good grace to blush. “Sketch Bucky. Mostly his hands. Sometimes just a quick pose. But...him.

The older Bucky turned to Steve, eyes soft. “Hey. Still?” He smiled when Steve nodded. “I didn't know that.”

He spared his lover a smile, and turned back to the situation at hand. “Right. Well.”

“Time travel,” Bruce piped up, having watched the whole scene quietly. “Or an alternate universe, I guess. What year is it?”

“1940,” the younger Steve said promptly. “January twelfth.”

“I'm thinking you'd give a different answer,” the younger Bucky said slowly. He still stood close to his Steve, protective, but his eyes were darting around, trying to take in everything around him as quickly as possible.

“It's 2018,” Bruce said carefully, and rolled his eyes at Tony's glare. “Oh, the hell with paradoxes. I'd rather work from some kind of position of trust, here.”

“How are...no. You know what. I don't care. I want to go home.” The younger Bucky passed his hand over his eyes. “Please. Let us go home.”

“Get used to that feeling,” the older Bucky muttered, and grimaced when Steve elbowed him. “Sorry.”

“Well! We've got two kids fresh out of the Depression and a potential unfixable time-travel paradox, but hey, at least you haven't set off some kind of matter-antimatter explosion and you're pretty unlikely to become your own grandparents!” Tony announced cheerfully. “JARVIS, collect every recording of everything that happened in this room in the last hour, and keep recording it in detail. I want EMP bursts, alien tech, everything down to time, temperature and humidity. Thor, call your girlfriend, I need her for her brains.” He cocked an eyebrow at the younger versions of his not-entirely-unbeloved teammates, and held out a bowl. “Popcorn?”

“Best not,” Bucky advised his younger self. “He puts cheese on his.” They made the same face.

* * *

First they sorted out the names, after some confusion and twin voices answering to the same name. Their younger versions requested to stay Steve and Bucky, with the older ones deciding that, in group situations, they could live with Rogers and Barnes. Next, mindful of exactly how much food they'd had access too in a wintry 1940, dinner was made – steak and potatoes and greens, enough to feed two super-soldiers or, apparently, two half-starved young men. Bruce pulled Bucky aside and quietly asked if Steve's health was all right at the moment, did he need anything, and Bucky shook his head, looking surprised and grateful.

The scientists went off to do...scientist stuff, Clint and Nat disappeared to probably get drunk, and Thor took one look around and didn't even try to mumble an excuse.

“So your teammates are assholes,” Steve said casually, settling only a little bit gingerly onto a newly-freed-up sofa.

Barnes snickered. “Perception correct. They think they're being nice, though. Giving us space or whatever.”

“Space? No, never mind.” Bucky said. “Please tell me you at least have flying cars.”

“Nope, sorry,” Rogers said. “But people have gone to the moon. Oh, and the internet – that's great. You can get ahold of almost anything you want, although people mostly look at pictures of cats, I think.”

“Of course they do,” Bucky said, and hesitated. “Uh. I know I'm not exactly a time-travelling expert, but are you even supposed to be telling us about our future? Or _the_ future?”

“Probably not, but like Bruce said. You wouldn't trust us if we just locked you in a room with a baseball game from four years ago.” Rogers smiled wryly. “It's a long story, but I was...kind of a dry run for just this moment. Sort of.”

Barnes had noticed Steve looking at the metal hand. He hadn't been trying to hide it, exactly, but he was also wearing a long-sleeved hoodie and the pockets were right _there_ and...well, he knew how a tiny, angry Steve Rogers would feel about his arm being replaced with a weapon. (He knew how a very large, angry Steve Rogers had felt, after all.) He pulled the sleeve back a little and nodded, when the other two fell quiet.

Steve slipped off of the sofa and knelt in front of Barnes, hands reaching out and hovering over the shiny silver metal. “May I?” he asked gently, and Barnes nodded.

Steve wrapped his hands around Barnes' hand, stroking the metal plating with his thumbs. He moved the fingers, the wrist joint, turned the arm to look at the inside of the forearm. “It's amazing,” he murmured, running a fingertip along the joins of the plate. “It's not...you can do everything you could before?”

Barnes nodded. “And more. It's stronger. And it's tied into my brain – I could add stuff, sense things I couldn't otherwise.” He was grateful that Steve didn't ask about who had put it there, how it threw off his balance and gave his gait a swing, anything that he might be tempted to lie about.

Steve nodded, squeezed his hand softly, and let go. “Did it hurt?”

“At the time? I don't remember. Now? Sometimes, a little, where it's joined to my skin. But not bad.” Not precisely a lie. Not exactly. Compared to everything else, the ache in his shoulder _wasn't_ bad.

Steve frowned. “How much...is it the whole arm?”

Barnes nodded and unzipped the hoodie, shrugging it off and pulling down the neck of his t-shirt, showing where the metal joined to the skin. He flinched at Bucky's gasp – this was his future the poor kid was looking at (probably), but Steve's face didn't even flicker.

He ran those sensitive fingers along the join, so feather-light that Barnes could barely feel it, and he shivered, remembering the hundreds of times _his_ Steve had touched him there, kisses following fingertips.

Steve turned to Rogers, eyes fierce, practically growling. “Whoever did this to him. Did you get them? Did you get them back?”

Rogers went still, face cold and equally fierce, and Barnes wondered if it was possible to die from too much of that all-encompassing love, that need for justice and setting the world to right in a single place.

“They were destroyed,” he said, voice calm and utterly cold. “Burnt off the face of the Earth. They'll never hurt anyone again.” He wrapped his arm around Barnes' shoulders, and kissed his collarbone, soft skin over a bone anchored in metal.

“Oh.” Steve rocked back on his heels and smiled. “You're together. Like this, I mean. With the kissing.” He gestured, and settled back comfortably on the floor. “I thought so.”

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” Rogers smiled sheepishly. “Just in the last few years, though.”

“Well, now we know it's an alternate universe,” Bucky said. “I, uh, don't feel that way about men.” He grinned at his Steve. “Thank God you're not stuck with me.”

“Hey!” both Steves said simultaneously. Rogers' smile softened when his eyes met Bucky's.

Barnes cleared his throat. “I don't feel that way, as you put it, about men. Just about _Steve_.” He looked helplessly at his younger self. “I'm not queer, just have an exception. I think. Um.”

Bucky shrugged. “This is the least weird part of today, honest.” His easy smile echoed his words. “You still gotta pull him outta fights and follow him around to makes sure colds don't get worse?”

“Yes to the fights, _God_ yes,” Barnes said fervently, realizing he'd just met the one human being (possibly aside from Mrs. Rogers) who would understand the exceptional threat Steve posed to his cardiac health. “That only got worse, if you can believe it.” He manfully ignored the way Rogers rolled his eyes. “No colds anymore, though.”

Bucky's eyes got huge, and he joined Steve on the floor, kneeling so he could gaze up at this new, healthy Steve. He'd had trouble looking at the big man, at the man his Stevie would become, his eyes slipping off of broad shoulders and strong thighs, a chest that didn't constantly wheeze. He stared now, openly. “This isn't a growth spurt.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Bucky, I'm twenty, not twelve. I think we're past that stage.”

“No, it's not,” Rogers said quietly, and went on to explain about the serum, the way Erskine chose him. Their younger selves drew closer together, Bucky putting a protective arm around Steve's skinny shoulders.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, and Rogers nodded.

“Were you there?” he asked Barnes, who shook his head. Bucky made a face at him, and looked at his Steve. “If this happens in our universe...you don't say yes unless I can be there, okay? You don't go through this alone.”

“Aren't we supposed to _not_ change the timeline?” Steve asked, eyebrow raising. “Besides, no more getting sick. Being strong, being able to _fight_. You wouldn't have to work three jobs every time I needed medicine.”

“He's got a point. About the timeline,” Barnes said. “Not that I don't get the impulse to protect him, kid, but...you can't change anything. If you remember, and if it's the same timeline,” he added, because that was the kind of universe he lived in now.

“In theory, we've already changed things,” Bucky said. “Maybe? Because for you guys we've already gone back and changed things...I think?”

“You're gonna give yourself a headache, jerk,” Steve said, punching him on the shoulder. “Besides, how much can we change history, really? Don't answer that,” he said quickly, facing his doppelganger. “I guess the US goes to war, from what you've said, but besides that...don't.”

Rogers nodded. “Safer this way.” He met both their eyes, and tried not to linger, drinking young Bucky Barnes in. Maybe not exactly carefree, but a Bucky without nightmares, a cocky young man who knew how to show the girls a good time, handsome and rakish as could be. Unhurt and beautiful, with no idea of what lay ahead of him.

Rogers purposely looked away, pressing close to his Bucky, his gorgeous man, who he loved more than his own breath. Who spoke fourteen languages (that they had been able to identify), who had been tortured and mindwiped, and who knew exactly where to kiss him so he made little hitching sounds with his breath.

God, his life was stupid some nights.

“So. Rummy?” Barnes asked, getting up to find the cards and for lack of anything better to do.

* * *

Tony emerged near midnight to let them know that they'd isolated some interesting technobabble (he'd used actual descriptive words, to absolutely no effect, although Bucky clearly at least tried to follow), and they were looking at reverse-engineering whatever had dumped them here.

“No guarantees, but you might be back as soon as tomorrow evening,” he said, only slightly over-caffeinated, although he was certain he could hit new heights with the espresso machine soon. “Assuming we can get the infrared pulsing fine-tuned. And hit the right levels of background radiation. Uh. Among everything else.”

“Why are you doing this for us?” Steve asked, setting aside his cards. Barnes was clearly winning, anyway. “We can't give you anything in return.”

Tony waved away the question. “Science. To prove we can do it. Your older selves can buy us all dinner for the next week.”

Steve blanched, and Barnes quickly rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little, ignoring how the thin collarbone beneath his hand felt, just a little bit, more familiar than the well-muscled man just on his other side. “We can afford it. Money...isn't a problem, trust me.” He shot Tony a glare. “That wasn't me saying yes about dinner, by the way.”

“Right, right, gotta keep the super-cool, super-soldier mask in place. Can't have the playboy of the western Brooklyn thinking he grows up to make a mean pot-roast.”

“Uh. I _do_ , actually,” Bucky offered as Rogers rolled his eyes. “Steve's useless in the kitchen, and we gotta eat somehow.”

“Whatever. You can make breakfast then, too. The toaster talks back, you'll love it.”

“Sir, Doctor Banner is requesting your attendance in your workshop,” said JARVIS' smooth voice, and Bucky was rather proud that he didn't even jump this time. “Immediately. I believe a small fire was involved, but has since been extinguished.”

“Oh, he's in _so_ much trouble, he knows I like being there for flames,” Tony said, and waved at the assorted Steves and Buckys. “Might as well get some sleep, we've clearly not hit the right oxygen:sodium ratio just yet.”

“I swear, he's a genius,” Rogers said, as soon as Tony had left the room. “He's just...like this. All the time.”

“Well, at least they're likeable assholes,” Steve commented. “Uh. Sleep's not such a bad idea, actually. We'll be okay on the sofa,” he said, and to be fair, the huge, deep leather sofa probably could hold the two of them easily. 

“Nah, we've got a spare room.” They had about forty spare rooms, actually – taking the whole of Avengers Tower into account – but Barnes figured it might be best to keep the two of them close at hand. And their apartment would be at least vaguely related to the familiar. Steve and Bucky had been holding up well, but he hadn't missed how they'd hardly let each other out of arm's reach since they'd been dumped into a different time.

He decided not to meditate on that at the moment, or ever actually.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, at last, it's no longer a WIP! Also, sex. Yeah, most of this chapter is sex.

Rogers led the way up through the Tower, moving from the well-appointed elevators and corridors to those used only by the maintenance crew (and, frankly, most of the Avengers themselves, for those times they needed to get the roof and be left alone). He stopped just short of a heavy fire door, leading Steve into a small alcove.

“What do you want to show me?” he asked impatiently. “There's nothing there.”

“It's Faraday cage,” Rogers said grimly. “It's...oh, never mind, you don't care. It means no one can overhear us, at all. In any way.”

Steve's eyes narrowed, his hands clenching into fists. “Why is that important?”

“Because I want you to save Bucky's life.” Rogers looked around them again. “Save him from...horrible things, really.”

Steve froze in place. “The arm,” he finally said. “Whoever did that to him...”

Rogers nodded. “Look, I think you can remember what I'm going to tell you. I know Tony was talking about the time travel working so you'd forget all of this, and I know that's a good idea, but when you get the serum...everything came back to me. So I think you'll remember. I hope you will. _God_ I hope you will.”

“This could mean anything. That everything changes. The Nazis win.” Steve rolled his eyes at Rogers' guilty look. “Yeah, I guessed that we won. Will win.”

“I don't think I'm – you are – that important to change that.” Rogers said quietly. “I can't believe it will work that way. There are too many variables, and I – we? – are just one. But I have to believe that you can save one man. He won't talk about it, to you, but there was so much pain. It was horrible. No one should ever, ever have to endure what he's lived through.” He closed his eyes a moment, remembered to breathe. “You'll do it, you'll save him.”

(What all this could mean for him, he refused to think about. Keeping quiet, keeping the timeline the same so that he could be guaranteed his beautiful man in the here and now was a grotesque arrogance. Bucky deserved a happy life, and if that meant coming home after the war while Steve lay at the bottom of the ocean, then he would trade the now for a life well-lived.)

Steve snorted. “Of course I damn well will. I'd die for him, and so would you.”

Rogers smiled, but it was achingly sad on his face. “When everything is on the line, when you think you're going to lose him – don't let him fall. And if he _does_ fall, go after him, you can save him. Just remember that, always. Don't let him fall. Go after him. _Save him_.” Do what I couldn't, he prayed to the boy in front of him, all anger at the world, at the fate that trapped him a body that was useless to everyone, until one kind man.

Steve nodded, firm, and blue eyes met blue. “I promise. I _promise_.”

Rogers bit his lip, hoping this would be enough. “Remember, always. When everything comes back – remember this.”

 

* * *

 

They found Bucky with Thor, who was showing him how text messaging worked.

“So you keep in touch with your girl this way?”

Thor nodded. “She has gone to New Jersey for the day. And I do not think she would appreciate being called my girl,” he added, grinning.

“Dr. Jane Foster belongs to herself, Thor's just allowed along for the ride,” Rogers agreed, delivering his younger self. He didn't miss how Steve and Bucky drew together, Bucky putting a protective hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve waited a whole two seconds before shrugging it off.

Rogers excused himself, and if he jogged a little to the big communal kitchen where Bucky was, only he and JARVIS would know, and he was pretty sure the AI wouldn't tell on him. Probably.

“No, but...okay, I can understand the words converting into numbers, that makes sense. On and off, like a switchboard,” Bucky continued, tethering an already-bored Steve with one hand and keeping him from wandering off. “Hey, Thor said he'd make us some Asgardian food in a minute, but I wanna understand this.” He held the little smartphone carefully, and startled when it vibrated, accompanied by some blaring music.

“Swipe the screen with your fingertip,” Thor coached him. “See, she has replied to us.”

Bucky's jaw dropped. “It's only been a few minutes! _Minutes_! Steve, I am talking to someone in _Trenton_ and she's replying in less time than it takes to make coffee. Steve, this is so amazing, can you imagine if we had this? You could tell me whatever you needed without me having to come home first, we could save so much _time_...”

Steve shifted his weight and peered over Bucky's shoulder. “Yeah, Buck. It's really neat.” He squinted at the bright text. “What does it say?”

“Forgive me, I forget you do not have your counterpart's eyesight,” Thor said, and reached over Bucky's other shoulder to tap the screen. A woman's voice read out the text from Jane, a friendly hello and telling them she was successful in tracking down what they needed.

Bucky's eyes get _even bigger_. “Steve! Steve, the computers here can _read stuff_ to you!”

Steve scowled, then checked himself and at least attempted a smile. “Hey, save you the trouble, right? And I can read just fine,” he added, looking over at Thor.

“I know, young Steven,” Thor assured him. “But this is...there is no shame, in needing help. Not among my people, certainly, and not in Midgard.” He smiled, the wistfulness unexpected. “This is a lesson I struggle with too, my friend. No one would think you weak or unworthy here.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Steve swallowed, and leaned into Bucky's arm again. “Can I talk back to her?”

“Uh huh. Thor taught me how to use the keyboard,” Bucky said, tapping on the screen to pull it up, and typing in Steve's hello. They grinned at each other once he'd sent the text.

“All right, it's pretty neat stuff,” Steve allowed. “Can we get lunch now, though?”

Thor laughed, and clapped a hand on Steve's back, only dampening his strength slightly. “Indeed, my friends. I believe you will like what I will prepare; it is a dish my family partakes of often.” He reclaimed his phone, and steered them both to the small kitchen in his quarters.

 

* * *

 

“We'll forget? All of this?” Bucky looked around, clearly disappointed. He had roamed the tower, Steve in tow, and had asked about everything. The future was _amazing_

“It's for the best,” Bruce said. “Sorry. Cold comfort, I know.”

“C'mon Buck, you can go right back to dreaming of flying cars and cities on the moon,” Steve said, nudging his friend. “And we can't change things, you know that. Ripple effect and all. We gotta live our lives like we would have anyway, not change how we act.”

It occurred to the older Steve that he used to be a lot better at lying.

“Fine,” Bucky grumbled. “The procedure will mind-wipe us or whatever. Least we'll be back where we started.”

“Uh, no, not wipe, that implies other things entirely, things I do not wish to imply,” Tony said quickly, after a sideways glance at a glaring Winter Soldier. “It'll reverse the, um, time-travel. It'll be like you never came here, as far as you know. In theory, anyway.”

Steve nodded, and held out his hand. “Thank you. For everything.” Tony, looking intensely uncomfortable, shook the proffered hand.

“Uh. You're welcome. I think. Right! Time to do science, doing science now, awkward goodbyes have thirty seconds.”

Barnes looked at his younger self, but didn't move. Rogers cleared his throat, clearly about to say something, then just shrugged. “Goodbye seems a little stupid, frankly.”

“Excellent, we can move onto the science. Jane, if you please?”

Jane nodded her farewell to the two young men, and started tapping the keyboard in front of her.

For groundbreaking time-travel – or reverse-engineered time-travel – it was particularly uneventful. One moment Steve and Bucky were there, the next they weren't.

The older Steve and Bucky let out a breath together, and looked at one another. “Well,” said Steve. “So.”

“Mmm. Any memories of being rocketed into the future on a particularly dull January day?” Tony asked, looking from one man to the other.

“No, Tony. It worked perfectly. We travelled back and didn't remember,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes.

“Or they _were_ from another timeline,” Steve added. “Either way, it seems to have worked.” Except it didn't, not the way he wanted, and he was terribly afraid that this was written all over his face.

“Of course it worked, we're brilliant,” Tony said. “See, I said 'we', I shared credit. I'm improving as a human being. Someone tell Rhodey.”

Bucky rolled his eyes again, and grabbed Steve's hand, pulling him out of the room. “ _Thanks_ Jane, Bruce. Stark.”

Steve let himself be pulled back to their apartment, and didn't let go even when they took refuge in their bedroom, simply pulling Bucky to him and kissing him, hard.

“Spill. What did you do, Rogers?” Bucky said, when he could catch his breath again.

“Who said I did anything?”

“I know you, so I know you tried something.” Bucky rested his forehead on Steve's, and smiled into those blue, blue eyes. His Steve, his lover before the ice and after, the constant in his life. Of course the brat had done something.

Steve bit his lip and dropped his eyes. “It doesn't matter. It didn't work.” He ran his hand down Bucky's arms, the warm flesh and the cool blue metal alike. “They must have been from a different timeline, or another universe or something.”

“Steve. Baby. What did you do?”

“I told him to not let you fall. That if you did, to go after you.” Steve pulled away, sitting in the middle of their bed and curling in on himself. “I thought the serum might bring it back. It made it so I remembered everything else.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bucky crawled onto the bed beside him, reaching out to rest his hand on Steve's back. “Stevie, you idiot.”

“Do you really think I wouldn't try to save you?” Steve peeked up at Bucky, leaning into him, a magnet pulled to the pole. “If you'd been with me in the cockpit of that plane, if you hadn't fallen through the decks...hell, if you hadn't been in the plane in the _first_ place.”

“Stop that,” Bucky said sharply, and consciously softened his tone. “Shhh, hey. What's done is done. And it all turned out okay in the end. New arm, courtesy Stark Industries. Pulled back from the dead, courtesy S.H.I.E.L.D. _I_ turned out okay, in the end.”

“I know, Buck.” Steve smiled a little, but shook his head. “I just...I know it all hurts, more than you let on. And you almost died, when they pulled us out of the ice...”

“Hush. It ain't a bad life I've got,” Bucky said “Not many guys in their thirties get to say they've been in love with the same man for seventy-four years, y'know.”

“We were asleep for most of that,” Steve protested, letting himself be laid down on the bed, relaxing as Bucky finger-combed his hair, petting the short, soft strands.

“So? I still loved you.”

“Sap,” Steve mumbled, reaching up for another kiss. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You musta been awful in a past life,” Bucky teased. “Only explanation.”

“Shut up.” Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him close, so tight, just for a moment. “I love you.”

“I know, baby,” Bucky soothed, and slipped his hands under Steve's t-shirt, his hands spanning Steve's back. “What do you need?”

“You.” Steve laughed when Bucky groaned and shoved him away, grabbing at Bucky's hands and trying to hold them still. “You asked!”

“God, you're awful.” Bucky nuzzled Steve's throat, nibbling just a little until Steve's breath hitched, and he made the loveliest sound. “Ask me what I want.”

“Are you giving me a lesson in seduction? Because I think my method's already working,” Steve said, rucking Bucky's shirt up and leaning over to lap at a peaked nipple. “Look at you.”

“I got your shirt off first,” Bucky said, pulling Steve's shirt all the way off as he spoke. “See? I am doing the seducing here.”

“Fine. What do you want, lover?”

Bucky grinned, and leaned over for a tender kiss, drawing it out with soft licks and bites. “You'll give it to me?” he asked, pulling away.

Steve whined at the loss of the warm mouth on his, and nodded. “Anything, Buck.”

“Mmm, good answer.” Bucky paused and pulled his own shirt off, laughing when Steve practically launched himself across the remaining inches so he could kiss down the line of Bucky's throat and across his collarbones, first to the right then, so gently it took Bucky's breath away, along the ridge of the left, to where metal joined flesh with careful, curving white scars. Steve brushed his lips along the line that divided metal and skin, loving on him, then pressed a long kiss to the red-white-and-blue shield that had been painted into the metal making up the outside of the shoulder.

Bucky brushed his fingertips along the Howling Commandos wings he'd chosen for Steve's left arm, rubbing the black lines with his thumb and smiling when Steve hummed against his shoulder.

(Each others' marks forever a part of them; it was better than wedding rings.)

“You haven't told me yet what you want,” Steve pointed out, his hands stroking down Bucky's chest, resting lightly on his waist. Steve was sitting upright now, shifted so he leaned over a still-prone Bucky and _oh_ he thought it was going to be like _that_.

“Ask me one more time,” Bucky said.

Steve leaned over, curling in on himself so he could kiss Bucky's stomach just above his jeans. “What do you want?”

“Lesson time, Captain my Captain,” Bucky murmured, cupping his hand between Steve's legs, not even rubbing yet, just holding, and even that contact kept deliberately light. “When I asked you that, your answer was romantic, but vague. You know I love being creative, but you know we _both_ like explicit directions. Good soldiers that we are,” Bucky added, and grinned when Steve snickered. He pressed his hand a little more against the hard length under it.

“ _Bucky_.” Steve was definitely breathing harder now, pressing closer. “God, you already have me. All of me, always. What do you _want_?”

Bucky bit his lip, overwhelmed for a moment at everything he _had_ , his skinny demanding punk still here, if less skinny and sometimes, somehow, _more_ demanding. “Stop distracting me,” he rasped, his voice going rough like it had when he'd first woken from the coma that had taken his first months in this new century.

He swallowed, and remembered the point of all this. “I want you to undress yourself, then me. I want you to lie between my legs and suck me off. I want you to use every dirty trick you know so that I scream your name, so I can barely remember to look down and see my cock in your beautiful mouth. And then I want it to be _my_ turn with _you.”_

Steve's pupils were _huge_ , the blue ring around them barely visible, and the sound he made was pure sex, all by itself. Bucky bit down on the inside of his cheek and concentrated on not embarrassing himself. They both had a decent recovery time, but he _wanted_ this.

“Stevie.”

“Yes, yes, _God_ yes,” Steve breathed, undoing his jeans getting rid of them and his boxers at nearly super-soldier speed.

He lingered with Bucky, though, pressing kisses to his stomach, and then lower, mouthing the hard heat through the denim. He rubbing his hands along Bucky's thighs, smiling at the way the muscles there flexed under his touch. He was slow, deliberate, and Bucky ached with it when Steve finally rid him of the last of his clothes and settled between his legs.

“Love you,” Steve murmured, pressing kisses along the inside of his thighs, his thumbs rubbing the points of his hip bones. “Love you, Bucky. Always.”

Steve never had got the hang of talking dirty, no matter how much he loved being on the receiving end of it, but Bucky wasn't about to complain. He'd never had much soft and tender in his life, until a skinny punk whispered love into his bones and meant every word.

“You're amazing, baby,” he murmured, stroking Steve's hair. “So amazing.”

“I know.” Steve looked up and grinned, and waited until Bucky was laughing before mouthing the head of Bucky's cock.

Bucky bit back a yell, his shoulders levitating off of the pillows because _God_ the sensations. Everything was warm and good, and Steve's mouth was _so_ good.

There was something more in that moment, though, and he let himself get lost in it, let Steve take care of him. The stream of words falling from his mouth (mostly variations on Steve's name, the word fuck, and oh God _yes_ ) tapered off under clever hands and lips and tongue, and Bucky was happy to let go of the world until the orgasm finished rippling through him, until he blinked and realized he was on his back against their pillows and Steve's fingers were gently petting his forehead.

“Back with me?” Steve asked, and Bucky smiled, nodded, pulled him down for a kiss. Talking was hard for him sometimes, emotions pushing all the words out of his head, but he figured he got his point across pretty well if Steve's groan was anything to go by.

“Good God. That mouth is the most dangerous part of you,” Steve said, and smiled when Bucky laughed and rolled them so that Steve lay on his back, Bucky to the side of him. He ran his hand down Steve's arm and laced their fingers together, admiring the way dark blue metal and pale skin came together. He would always, always remember waking up from the surgery that had given him the arm, tied into his body for all time. The room was too light, far too bright, but he was warm and Steve was there, holding his left hand for the first time in years. He had barely been awake, but he could close his fingers around Steve's and _feel_ the warmth of his skin, feel the pressure there.

He had entirely ignored Stark's questions and attempts to run him through some diagnostics, just smiled and closed his eyes and rubbed his thumb over Steve's hand and let Bruce distract Tony for the few minutes he needed.

Bucky was pretty sure Steve remembered the same thing, going by the way he was smiling. He reached up to cup Bucky's face in one hand, and Bucky didn't care that they looked like a bunch of lovesick losers. That's what they were, after all.

“Hey. Promised you it'd be your turn next,” he said, pushing himself up so he sat next to Steve.

“Did you? I can't remember.”

“Oh my God, you're even bad at _playing_ innocent,” Bucky said. He'd learned in about 1940 that kissing Steve while rolling his eyes was going to be a major feature in his life, and that, at least, had never changed. “How were you ever a USO girl?”

“I am not bad at it. Phil thinks I'm still a virgin,” Steve said, pouting. “And I'm pretty sure Tony thinks I go to church every Sunday.”

“Baby, you _do_. Well, some Sundays,” Bucky said patiently, beginning to stroke his hands down Steve's body, starting with a chest that could very nearly get _him_ into the pews on a Sunday morning, if only to say thank you. “And Phil is...Phil.”

Steve grinned and pushed himself up up for a kiss that only lingered a little before Bucky did something with his hand and Steve's cock that meant collapsing back onto the bed was really the only solution.

“Ngh,” said Steve.

“That's better,” said Bucky, and wrapped his hand around Steve's cock, content with slow strokes – just enough to not be enough – while he took his time, kissing and nipping where his fancy took him. He'd never grown tired of Steve's skinny body, and he'd never grow tired of his post-serum body either, all smooth skin and incredible muscles and still, always, always, his Stevie.

He closed his eyes for a moment and rested his forehead right over Steve's heart, just for a second to drink it all in.

Steve's hands were roaming Bucky's back, always moving, first grasping his shoulders, then tangling for a moment in his long hair, then tracing down the knobs of his spine as far as he could reach.

“There's my Stevie,” Bucky murmured, his hand moving just a little bit faster. He bit down lightly on one of Steve's nipples, then ran his tongue along it, soothing and adding to the sensations that made Steve keen softly. “That's my gorgeous. God, you love this, don't you? Love my hand on your cock, love my mouth anywhere on you. The way you cry out for me is perfect, you know?”

Steve moaned again, pushing up into Bucky's hand.

“Oh, you want more. God, so greedy, always needy, always wanting it harder.” Bucky grinned at the flush spreading along Steve's chest. “Love giving it to you, you know. Always.”

“ _Buck_.”

Oh, that wasn't good – that was a whole syllable, a whole _word_. Bucky _tsk_ ed and leaned over to bite Steve's hip. That _had_ changed – he had been terrified of being too rough with Steve when he was skinny and so prone to...everything. He hadn't been able to give in and give his lover exactly what he wanted.

Now though, now. He bit again, making sure to catch the same tender spot, then soothed it with a kiss. Steve returned to soft keening sounds, and Bucky settled between his legs, his mouth joining his hand on Steve's cock. He took his time exploring, only slowly paying out what he knew Steve loved most until the other man fell apart under his hands, hips shaking as he tried to keep them still, tried not to thrust too hard.

Bucky kissed a trail back up Steve's stomach, nuzzling the dip between his collarbones, pressing kisses to his jaw and, finally, laying a kiss over each eye, smiling when Steve looked up at him and made a face.

“Good, baby?” he asked, smoothing a few sweat-damp strands off Steve's forehead.

“Eh, you'll do.” Steve grinned and wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, ignoring the glare he'd earned..

“For that, you're on cleanup duty,” Bucky told him.

“Gonna have to wait until I can feel my legs again,” Steve said, and laughed when Bucky grunted and headbutted him. “What? Your own fault.”

“How is everything always my fault?” Bucky pulled away gently – he _hated_ feeling all sticky, and anyway, he quietly and not-so-secretly loved taking care of Steve. It only took a few minutes to grab a washcloth and run it under warm water, and it was so nice running it in long strokes down Steve's body. He paid extra attention to the bite marks on Steve's hip, kissing them softly when he'd finished washing them, although they'd be healed in another hour or two. He cleaned himself with much more efficiency and tossed the washcloth more or less in the direction of the bathroom, finally letting Steve pull him close again.

He settled his head on his lover's chest, pressing a kiss onto warm skin and breathing in the happy scent of the both of them together, of Steve, of sex. “God you're an idiot. What if you'd changed things so we weren't together?”

“No such thing,” Steve mumbled, heavy and boneless and blissfully happy. “No me without you.”

“Still an idiot.” Bucky paused, stilling for a moment. “Steve, what if you did change things? What if what we have...what if the original timeline had been something worse?” If Steve hadn't come after him in Zola's lab, if he hadn't pulled Steve out of the line of fire in the Alps, if he'd fallen from the train. So many times they could have lost one another.

“We'll never know, will we?” Steve yawned. “Don't matter. Sleep now.”

“Mmm.” Exhaustion pulled him down, made his limbs heavy, but Bucky lay awake just a little longer, wondering.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few notes:
> 
> 1) I'm on Tumblr at dietraumerei.tumblr.com. Come for the reblogged photos of Sebastian Stan, stay for the occasional headcanon and/or general flailing about my life.
> 
> 2) Do you enjoy ruthlessly deleting adverbs? How about ellipses? Do you have the patience of a saint when it comes to scrubbing a fic of excess fluff and sweetness? I would love to have a beta reader or several, please get in touch if you would be willing to beta for me! I'm not writing very quickly these days, so it would be a pretty light workload, but I really could use a second (third, fourth, etc.) pair of eyes.
> 
> 3) A moment of fridge horror that occurred to me while writing this, which I will share with you: What if Bucky's thought at the end worked both ways, so to speak? What if the starting universe in this story (i.e. MCU) is the better iteration of an earlier universe? How many ways could their lives be even more awful?
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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